


The Rules of Love

by Arctic_comet



Series: Phillip/Anne, canon-compliant fics [2]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arctic_comet/pseuds/Arctic_comet
Summary: Barnum is away on tour with Jenny Lind, but Phillip stayed, and Anne begins to wonder if maybe some people are worthy of trust after all. Set before the fire.
Relationships: Phillip Carlyle/Anne Wheeler
Series: Phillip/Anne, canon-compliant fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808473
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	The Rules of Love

Anne wasn’t sure what she’d thought would happen when Barnum left the circus to tour with Jenny Lind. It felt like a betrayal to her, further fueling her conclusion that no good would come out of trusting a white man. Miss Lind was the new, shiny, exciting object and Barnum had abandoned all else for her. What she hadn’t expected was that perhaps in some ways, things were actually better without the man who had brought them all together. Instead of bailing on them at the first sign of adversity of hardship, Phillip had _stayed._ And not only that; he was the first one there in the mornings as well as the last one to leave at night. She shouldn’t know any of that, but she kept tabs on him despite never approaching him directly. He kept his distance from her too, mostly shutting himself in what used to be Barnum’s office. Although sometimes she’d spy him checking out the ropes to make sure nobody would fall due to an equipment problem, and he was always there to make sure the shows went smoothly. His interest in them hadn't waned despite the rather unfair workload he was under, although she was sure it would've made for a much easier life if he'd just taken up and left. _Maybe... No. No more daydreaming. She couldn't afford it._

“You coming?” Asked her brother, once their rehearsal was over.

“I think I’ll stay a little while longer. I could use some time alone.”

W.D. shrugged. “All right, but don’t stay too late.”

“I know when to stop.”

"I'm not sure if you do," he sighed. 

When W.D. was gone, she took to the air once more, sitting in her hoop in the heights. The good thing was that she could see directly into the office. Phillip was hunched over paperwork, which was no surprise, but his eyes didn’t meet hers, which was still new to her, and it still disappointed her. Usually he would sense her eyes on him and look back, as if the two of them were connected. Now she saw no sign of him even being aware she was there.

 _Would she one day have to watch some pretty white lady bring him food and drag him home for the night?_ She didn’t think she could stomach it. It wasn’t _fair._ And what was worse was that she felt there was nobody to confide in. W.D. didn’t understand, and for obvious reasons she couldn’t let Phillip comfort her. 

_The way his parents had looked at her. Like she wasn’t worth the dirt in the bottom of their shoes. Like she was a fraud, parading around in that nice green dress of hers, holding on to Phillip’s arm. Pretending like she was worth the lavish surroundings of the theater and the man at her side._

There were no fairytale endings for people like her, and she already had it better than so many others. She had her brother with her, and they had a steady income, never had to go to bed hungry anymore. She’d found friends at the circus and even had enough extra money to buy nice things for herself every once in a while. Reaching for the moon wasn’t for her, as tempting and beautiful as it was. It was foolish to wish for impossible things like the chance to be Phillip’s wife, when they couldn’t even spend a nice evening at the theater without being judged and humiliated in public. _Who in their right mind would ask for a lifetime of that?_ There were other possibilities to consider, too, ones that were much scarier than mere looks or cruel words could ever be. In the South they _killed_ whites who got too close to people like her. _What if they did that to Phillip? How would she ever survive that?_

***

The hairs on the back of his neck stood, which usually meant Anne was near, but Phillip resisted the urge to seek her out, swallowing hard as he kept his eyes on the papers. Thinking about Anne or the fact that Barnum had risked all their livelihoods made him want to reach for his flask, but he hadn’t caved in yet. _He was better than that, and the people in the circus deserved better than that._

They didn’t know much about the state of the affairs, but Phillip himself was acutely aware that he was the only one the performers had left at this point. If he gave up, and especially if Barnum’s gamble on Jenny Lind failed, these people would be left homeless and unemployed in a world where it was hard for them to find a paying job and a home. He didn’t want to think about that, and he especially didn’t want to think about Anne having to suffer that. Those were the moments when he _hated_ Barnum. The man himself would’ve surely told Phillip that he was worrying about things that would never come to pass, and that he should _think less and smile more_. The problem was that Phillip was sure he was the _only one_ thinking at all. It terrified him to no end that for the most part, the future of the circus wasn’t in his hands, but in Barnum’s impulsive ones. As much as he admired the older man, he couldn’t help but think Barnum didn’t recognize the true value of all the good things he had in his life. 

When Phillip wasn’t thinking about the circus, he was thinking about Anne, and that was hardly any better. He stayed out of her way and she stayed out of his, but he knew she was in pain, perhaps even more than he was. Surely she would've preferred never having to see him again. When Barnum returned, could he tear himself away from this place and leave, when he'd come to consider the people there his friends. There was nobody left outside the circus for him to go back to. Before he left, he would make sure Barnum hired security for the circus. The number of protesters in their shows had been growing recently, and he felt in over his head, trying to control them. 

A lowlife had even thrown a broken bottle at Anne at the end of a show, hitting her hip. Before Phillip had even had time to consider his actions, he’d climbed the benches and grabbed the man by his collar. W.D’s deep voice had then sounded at his shoulder, asking if he needed help. They’d removed the man together, but unfortunately hadn’t been able to stop him from spewing obscenities. _Negros. And that negro whore._ At that point Phillip had been so angry that he punched the man. Once at first, and then again when that didn’t shut him up. When they finally left the barely conscious scumbag in the street, W.D had slapped a hand on his shoulder.

_“Not bad,” he’d said. “I’ll buy you a drink for that, Carlyle.”_

Perhaps the people here didn’t deem him as unworthy of their trust as they once had, but this wasn’t his circus, and their ringmaster would return. He was an overcompensated apprentice thrust into a far bigger role than he’d been prepared for. The performers _wanted_ Barnum back. The man was flighty and untrustworthy, but also inspiring with his dozens of crazy ideas and the wild energy he brought to any room he occupied. His own thoughts of the performers maybe needing him or even missing him should he leave after Barnum’s return could be dismissed as reflections of his own need to belong somewhere. _With someone._

It had taken him a long time to accept that his parents didn’t love him, and probably never had. They had been raised to believe things should be a certain way and that certain rules had to be followed, but they hadn't been able to get over their prejudice even for their only son. Him drinking himself into an early grave had been perfectly acceptable, but at the same time they had been scandalized at seeing the most beautiful lady in the theater at his arm, merely because of the color of her skin. When you only accepted your child when they were exactly what you wanted them to be, that wasn’t love. 

Then again, he’d never been what his parents wanted, especially his father. Phillip has always been too soft to his father’s taste, daydreamed too much. He wasn’t interested in going back to the people he’d never felt like he belonged with, but he could write a few more boring plays and relieve them of their mostly _not_ hard earned money, until he could set up his own theater. Then he could put anything he wanted on stage, the plays he’d written since joining the circus but would never be produced unless he did it himself. Caroline and Helen seemed to enjoy the children’s mysteries he had finished, and then there was… Well, it was a highly personal romantic drama with a happy ending that still remained unfinished in his notebook. Real life might be a tragedy, but he thought there had to be space for fairytales and happy endings in people’s minds, even if they were an illusion. 

It was getting late, but he didn’t want to go home. At least here he could try to do something useful. However, he was so tired his vision was getting blurry and he could no longer tell one number from another... Maybe if he closed his eyes for ten seconds… _Just for ten seconds…_

***

Anne watched him until he slumped onto the desk, apparently asleep. The protesters were coming more often and in larger numbers now, and she could tell they worried Phillip. W.D. was partial to solving conflicts like that with his fists, while Phillip was the opposite. And still, Phillip didn’t tell W.D. that he didn’t have the right to defend himself, his friends or their home. Barnum had always seemed slightly embarrassed by the confrontations with the protesters, ordering everyone inside and to never engage with them. Sometimes she thought the man had been embarrassed by _them._ Protecting them, sure, but as assets rather than friends or because it was the right thing to do. 

As grateful as she was for the home and wages Barnum provided for them, she couldn’t help but think that a lot of the things W.D. thought about rich white men fit him to a T. They were a means to an end for him, only to be paraded out in the open when it was necessary and he could make money out of it. 

Slowly making her descent back to the floor and head over to her dressing room, she still couldn't keep her eyes off the office. _He was asleep..._ She could sit with him for a minute. Padding into the office, Anne opened the door as quietly as she could, hoping not to wake him. There was a sofa in the corner of the room, and she quickly grabbed a pillow and a blanket from it. 

Phillip was still sound asleep, quietly snoring against the papers. Asleep, he looked even younger than normal, and certainly more carefree. 

It took some maneuvering to lift his head slightly so she could slip the pillow underneath. When that was done, she laid the blanket on him. She should walk out that door right now, since her work was done, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. Her hands strayed, finding his soft, messy hair. He was too far gone to wake up to her touch, but he shifted in his sleep, making Anne’s breath hitch as he seemed to lean into her touch. 

“Anne,” he suddenly exhaled sleepily, making her jump and accidentally topple an entire pile of notebooks to the floor. Eyes wide, she was ready to bolt before Phillip could confirm she’d been there, but by some miracle, he stayed asleep. 

After a relieved sigh, she crouched to pick up the notebooks. The ones that were open seemed to contain calculations for the circus and since she wasn’t going to snoop, she placed them back on the desk. Except for one. The blue notebook had no numbers inside, but text. Flipping to the first page, she stared at the words.

_Rewrite the Stars_

_A play by Phillip Carlyle_

On impulse, she snapped it shut and tucked it into her armpit. _Had Phillip written about her? About them?_ If he had, didn’t she technically have a right to read this? And she’d wanted to read his plays for months now, so why not this one? Her brother’s voice boomed inside her head even as she left the office with one last glance at Phillip’s sleeping form. _Never take anything from a white man. Never accept gifts from a white man. Never touch a white man. Never look them in the eye. Never speak to them unless you’re spoken to._

She’d broken most of these rules with Phillip already, and now it was turn for the first one. _What was one more after all?_

***

The play turned out to be what she’d believed it to be, and so much more. As hard as she tried to keep quiet, W.D. heard her sobs to the other side of the room they shared. 

“What is it?” He asked, making her grateful for the privacy the partition in their room provided her. 

“Nothing. I’m reading something, and it’s… Really good.”

Because her brother- as much as she loved him- had the habit of always making her business his, he couldn’t stay out of this one, either. She heard his steps quickly enough to hide the notebook under her pillow before he appeared beside the partition.

“What’s that _something_?”

“Nothing.”

“Anne.”

“It’s a play.”

W.D. nodded knowingly, his gaze disapproving. “Did he give it to you?”

“No. I took it,” she admitted.

“Anne! You need to take it back,” he hissed, his eyes wide with panic. 

“I will tomorrow. He won't even notice it’s missing.”

“I sure hope so, for both our sake.”

“And he wouldn’t be upset if he knew I took it.” In fact, she believed she would’ve been allowed to read it only by asking Phillip. 

“Fine, that’s possible, I’ll give you that, but in our position you can never be too careful with a white man’s possessions.”

“You still see him that way, despite all the things he’s done for everyone here? He didn’t have to stay, W.D.”

Her brother exhaled, his stance relaxing. He seemed to be on the fence about what to say to her. That was new. _Was he perhaps coming around when it came to Phillip?_

“I know, but this isn’t a world where we can’t afford to trust _any_ white man, no matter how noble they seem to be," he eventually said, but there was unfamiliar hesitation in his words, as if he no longer quite meant it, at least not in this case.

Anne sighed. “I hear you.” 

***

 _Where was it?_ Phillip’s frantic search of the messy office hadn’t produced the script, and he had nowhere else to look for it. Maybe it had fallen out of his pocket. That meant it could be anywhere in the circus. _Or in one of the trash cans. Or used as fuel in the hearths._ It was only words on paper, but some part of him had become to associate it as proof of his connection with Anne, and now it was _gone._ Much like Anne from his life, in fact.

He left the office, heading for the trash cans.

“Morning. You lose something?” Asked W.D. Phillip turned to look at him and realized with a start that Anne’s brother had not come alone.

Swallowing, he dropped the peanut shells, candy wrappers and pieces of broken glass back into the can. “Uh, yes. I lost a notebook.”

“I can help you look,” suggested W.D.

“It’s all right, it’s not that important,” he lied. He didn’t want Anne’s brother accidentally stumbling upon the script. 

“You’re halfway covered in garbage, Carlyle. It’s gotta be important. Anne, why don’t you go ahead and start without me? I’ll be there as soon as we find Mr. Carlyle’s notebook.”

Phillip watched Anne shoot her brother a tense smile before she strode away from them, as if she couldn’t get away from _him_ fast enough. His shoulders slumping, he accepted that this just wasn’t durable. Something had to give, and that something would have to be him.

W.D. carefully pushed an arm into the next tee trash can. “What did Barnum say about hiring security?” He asked.

Phillip shook his head, embarrassed to have to give W.D. the answer he’d received from Barnum. “Thinks it could make people less interested in coming to see the show.”

W.D. scoffed and then cursed. “Sorry, Mr. Carlyle,” he huffed.

“You should call me Phillip.”

“We’re not there… Yet, anyway.”

Phillip nodded. Maybe one day, although he should hope Barnum came back before that.

“So, what’s the plan then, Mr. Carlyle?” 

“Well… If we can’t hire security, then _I_ am security,” he sighed. 

W.D. eyed him in a manner conveying doubt and pity, it said nothing. Phillip himself didn’t feel that much more confident. He was hardly used to brawls, but he’d be damned if he let Anne and the others be insulted or even physically assaulted. 

“You can count on my help, Mr. Carlyle.”

“I’d appreciate it very much,” he admitted. He’d seen enough to know W.D. was far more experienced than him when it came to fighting, so refusing his offer would’ve been stupid, not to mention selfish, done only to spare his own pride. 

Sadly, they didn’t locate the notebook in any of the trash cans and Phillip returned to his office thinking he’d seen the last of the script. To his great surprise, it was sitting on the table, in the exact same spot where he remembered placing it.

“Huh,” he exhaled, picking up the notebook. On the title page he found a fingerprint that wasn’t his. It was much smaller and had left a stain of talcum powder. 

This time when he felt the familiar burn of Anne’s gaze, he turned around. There she was, looking at him as she flew by. He’d dreamed about her last night, which wasn’t unusual in itself, but this time it had felt so _real._ Anne’s hand in his hair, her scent in his nose. _Had she been in his office and taken his script?_

Everything in his heart told him not to give up on her, to do something to show her he was serious, but Anne was a determined woman. He’d never truly pursued a woman before because none of them had had the same effect on him as Anne did, but perhaps she simply preferred to live her life without him. She should be allowed to make that choice, and he wasn’t particularly excited over the prospect of making another plea to her and being pushed away again. It would only hurt them both. That didn’t change the fact that he was dying to know if Anne had read the play and whether she liked it. 


End file.
